The Color Conundrum
by canibecandid
Summary: "It always, always, starts with the hair, Molly. Then she'll buy a leather jacket because she'll think she'll look cool, and she won't be wrong. And maybe her and her so-called 'friends'," Molly can hardly hold back her giggles as Sherlock uses air quotations as he paces in the parlor "are smoking low-tars behind the ground keeper's hutch." [Parent!lock]


Married life in the Hooper-Holmes house hold was about as calm as anyone would expect married life to Sherlock Holmes would be. Late night cases and callings, the constant fear that Toby might be used as an experiment if Lestrade couldn't find a case quick enough, and the endless amounts of sex that seemed to stem from Sherlock's constant boredom. Experiments went neglected if Molly had had a particularly long day in the morgue and those nights were tender and slow in their passion. Because, despite what many thought would happen, Sherlock Holmes could never be bored with Molly Hooper.

Nor was he did he tire of looking after their young daughter, Elora Grace Holmes, with her wonderfully curly brunet hair and her large brown eyes that were filled awe at every new thing her father and mother taught her. But as she grew up, her Holmes' Rebellion Streak became larger. Just little things, typically, to have her own victories. Like learning to play the clarinet, despite her father's urging to play anything else.

But now, at the tender age of sixteen, Elora's newest rebellion came in her wonderfully curly _vibrant blue _hair.

* * *

_"It's Stargazer Blue, and I'm not taking it out."_

_"It's About-to-be-gone Blue, and yes, you are."_

* * *

"It always, always, starts with the hair, Molly. Then she'll buy a leather jacket because she'll think she'll look cool, and she won't be wrong." Sherlock ruffles his now-graying hair and he yanks angrily at the new robe they've had to purchase now that his favored blue one is in tatters. "And maybe her and her so-called friends," Molly can hardly hold back her giggles as Sherlock uses air quotations as he paces in the parlor "are smoking low-tars behind the ground keeper's hutch. Then she'll start thinking about illicit sex, and we'd need to find her a birth control as soon as possible-"

"Wait, wait," Molly laughed while propping her chin in her hand, "Are you telling me that there are pictures of you running around with colored hair in your teens?"

"Sex was in that sentence and you latched on to my hair." Sherlock commented dryly, while throwing himself into his steadily declining house chair.

"I always enjoy latching on to your hair." Molly waggled her eyebrows and took a sip of her tea. "Sherlock, you need to slow down. It was just a sleep over. It's not even really that bad, Elora could have done something worse, and you know it. Besides, she's young, she'll grow out of it." She abandons her tea and moves to sit on her husband's lap.

"Plus, what if we drive to doing something else by trying to control her? It's going to be just fine, Sherlock, trust me." She kisses the side of his head and cards her fingers through his hair and he wraps his arms around her waist. Sherlock makes a disgruntled noise, but ultimately sighs and leans into his wife's touch.

"Maybe I should go an-"

"No, I'll talk to her. Besides, I know you've got a new case from Lestrade. I can handle things here on the home front." She kisses the bridge of his nose and he holds her a moment longer before they both stand, Sherlock kissing her gently before fetching his suit jacket and coat. Heading out the door, he casts a sad glance at Elora's bedroom door to which Molly gives a shrug and a tiny smile before shooing him out the door.

As soon the door shut, Molly sighed and ran a hand through her hair before knocking on her daughter's door.

"Elora? Sweetie, can I come in?" She asked gently, waiting for Elora's response.

"Why?" There were loud sniffles and the sound of rustling covers. "I think Dad pretty much covered it."

"I just want to talk."

When there was no reply, Molly turned the knob and slowly walked to the edge of Elora's bed and sat down. "Hello."

"Hi." Elora responded dully, rolling over and facing her mom. "He hates me, mum."

"Oh Elle, you know that's not true." Molly gave a half grin, brushing a thumb across her daughter's cheek and catching a stray tear.

"It certainly felt that way." The teenager grouched, so much like her father that her own cupid's bow lips twitched in the middle. Molly bit back a smile, having seen the same face for so many year.

"I- I know that this might be a little difficult for you to understand sometimes… but Elora, your father had a more… colorful past than I did. He's seen and done things that I could only read about in autopsy reports and watch on the telly." Molly sighs and tucks a strand of curly blue hair away, kissing her daughter's forehead. "He worries, constantly, and it's unnerving for him. Before us, there wasn't really much of anyone to take care of him and love him like we do."

"It doesn't make it right for him to rage at you like he did, but he loves you. It's just something to think about for tonight. We love you very much," Molly placed another kiss on her daughter's forehead and stood. "Stargazer Blue and all."

* * *

_"You're home earlier than I expected, case went well then?"_

_"Indeed."_

* * *

Rummaging around in the farthest corners of their closet, Sherlock finds a box that hasn't been opened in years, maybe much longer than he realized if the film of dust was anything to go by. Attached on top was a simple note that said "Do Not Open" that he'd stuck on at some point after Molly had moved into 221B, and it was clear that she'd followed the boxes instructions, though she raised herself a little from the bed out of curiosity, craning her neck to see what he held.

Sherlock fished around through the various pictures that his mother insisted that he have, something about wanting to look at them in the future or such nonsense. He took out a stack and shuffled through the fading pictures after placing the box on the bed.

"Sherlock, what are these pictures of?" Molly asked, her hand hovering over them and asking her silent permission. After Sherlock's nod, her hand scooped out a few and thumbed through them. "Oh! Look at you and Mycroft! You both look completely adorable! Cantankerous, but adorable." Molly cooed, looking at the pictures.

"Is that Ethan? He looks so dashing in this picture! Is that why you don't talk? Because his hair looked better than yours?" Ethan Holmes smiled at the camera, hair in place as he managed to ruffle both of his older brother's hair. The old two looking completely miserable for the whole ordeal.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and plucked out three or four Polaroid pictures before dropping a kiss on to his wife's lips. "You're ridiculous."

He strode into the kitchen and took out one of the knives and jammed the pictures into the wall with it, right next to Elora's door where she'd find them in the morning.

"You know you did a good thing." Molly said as he laid in bed beside her and he grinned in the quite of the night as he wrapped his arms around her.

* * *

Elora pried the knife out of the wall and held the pictures in her hand, giggling a little of the sight of her father with a brilliant shock of green hair with her uncles.

On the back of the picture read

_Mycroft, Ethan, and W. Sherlock._

_Granny Apple Green, 1996_


End file.
